American Gangster
by Rosette-Cullen
Summary: Example entry for the Age of Edward Contest: Edward Cullen is the infamous mobster who happens to take it up with the chief of police, what would his motives for blackmailing the chief be? ExB Lemon, AH, OOC


**A/N: The Age of Edward Contest has begun! This is my first example piece for the contest, I won't be entering because I'm a judge, but I can't wait to read all the fabulous entries.**

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**Age of Edward Contest**

**Title: American Gangster**

**Your pen name: Rosette-Cullen**

**Type of Edward: 20's Gangsterward**

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this contest visit: The Age of Edward C2 Community:  
http://www(DOT)fanfiction(DOT)net/community/The_Age_of_Edward_Contest/70125/**

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"I don't count three thousand here, Mr. Swan," I sighed loudly.

"The last time we spoke you said that two thousand plus interest was enough," he spat back. His face turned red and I had approximately thirty seconds to calm the bohunk down before he'd lose his cool.

"Exactly, Mr. Swan—may I call you Charlie? Charlie, the interest over two week's time is five hundred a week. I'm a busy man with various expenses. Just this week I had to pay for about a dozen tickets over from Italy. These are some big guys and ordinary coach just wouldn't do. I'm sure you understand as a baby grand yourself, Charlie."

His shoulders hunched at my threat. It was ridiculous, considering I had two large men surrounding him. I nodded to one and a heavy hand came down on Charlie's shoulder.

The man was gaunt; his once fiery life had gone out and he looked tired. That thin hair atop his head looked to take on another gray strand. And then there was me; the infamous Edward Cullen, who would come in and save the day. If I was correct in my assumption, any minute now he'd be willing to bargain.

"What can I do?" he sighed. "You've already got control over the police. I've done what you asked me to; looked over every felony involving your men, and I've always been loyal."

"Indeed you have, Charlie. Loyalty is _the_ most important thing to me—more than dough or dope. Loyalty is the seed to any successful business." I removed my hat and ran the palm of my hand down the side of my slicked back hair. "Now, Charlie, I normally don't bargain—at all. But for you, I'm be willing to drop your debt."

"Honest?" he nearly yelled.

"Yes, honest."

"For what, Mr. Cullen?"

"What would you be willing to trade?" I sat back in my chair and put out the butt of my cigar.

"Anything!" _Hook, line and sinker. _

His dark brown eyes screamed sincerity and honesty, and for the first time in, well, ever, I actually felt real remorse for what I was about to do.

"I heard you're a dapper, is that true?" His face turned gaunt again. Those hopeful eyes dimmed down and his smile fell into a grimace.

He swallowed hard. "It's true, but what would that have to do with anything? My daughter has nothing to do with my affairs."

_She has everything to do with your affairs_. I leaned forward so my elbows rested on the desk. I'd never spoken to a father about a daughter before; it wasn't my style. If I took a girl out, I had a fun time and then got the hell outta' there before things could get serious and bite me in the pants.

He looked me on with slow disgust painting his face. I could see exactly what he was thinking - How could I take his daughter into my crude world of mafia affairs and illegal activities? Oh, it'd be awful wrong for me to take the police chief's daughter and introduce her sweet, innocent soul to a world which she never even thought existed.

Except she wasn't all that innocent.

No, I'd seen her at the sock hops a couple of times. She would sit down, drink her fruity drinks, and when the band came out to play she'd dance around in her little glittered dresses and swing those eel hips like there was nothing in the world stopping her. What a get-up she'd wear; short dresses that came up to the thigh, glittering beads and flat sadde shoes painted up and down with stripes and swirls. The first night I ever saw her she had this purple dress on and I nearly died of heatstroke...

Charlie looked grummy, not at all hopeful. He knew I always got what I wanted and that he'd probably never see his daughter again. I didn't steal, which is why it took me nearly four months to get me to this point--where I had Charlie swan by the collar, in my debt, and willing to give up anything to pay off those poker loans.

"She just turned eighteen… I can't force her into something she doesn't want for the rest of her life…"

"Charlie, I'd be willing to do anything to make this easier for you." I said in my most professional voice. "You can either talk to her, tell her what's going on and say your goodbyes, or if you'd rather not be the bad guy, I could stage a kidnapping—"

"No! I wouldn't want to put her through that." His expression turned hard. Quite the clown I had in my office.

"Alright, I'll give you three days to prepare her. But, if you decided to pull out, have the three grand waiting for when I arrive on Wednesday night."

He nodded, shook my hand, and nearly gave me all rights to his daughter.

--

I was no Ethel, but I liked to have a clean home. I paid an extensive amount of money for my eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, and I liked to make everything nice enough that a lady would enjoy her time here.

I picked the biggest bedroom besides mine to put Charlie's daughter in. I ordered a new bed with a canopy on it--of course I'd treat her like a princess. But if she were to disobey or humiliate me, well... that would be a different story.

By the time Tuesday came around I was shaking with anticipation. I decided not to go down to the sock hop, because if I was correct, she wouldn't feel much like dancing if Charlie had just broken the news to her.

The girl that I'd gone goofy and head over heels for was Isabella Swan, born in the US-of-A and descended from European immigrants. She had chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, a smile that could light up a room, fair skin, and, damn it all to hell, legs that belonged in a show-girl line.

The one time I had dared to get close to her was in the middle of June not too long ago. It was hot, hotter than hell because of the sun going down and fading to black, and the lights of the chandeliers, and the hundred of bodies packed together, but most of all, that tight little bunny dancing with a friend of hers.

I couldn't take sitting at my usual booth away from the crowd anymore. I took off my jacket, pulled on my hat, hoped to God I didn't get shot, and moved my way through the thick crowd to get closer.

She was sweaty, her hair was flying everywhere, her feet were moving a million miles an hour over the tile, but God dammit she was sexy as Hades. I got an earful of her laugh and I was done for, a dead man... and then I smelled her.

I preferred oranges, always have always will, but she smelled so strongly of strawberries. She smelled like she had been drenched in the finest, plumpest strawberry juice and then lived in there for a decade, all naked and slippery wet.

I stopped moving about on that dance floor and watched her until some schmuck came over and elbowed me. He got taken to the alleyway in ten seconds flat, but I left knowing I couldn't stop myself from touching my little flower.

Since that night I spent more of my focus hoarding her father's debt. Whenever he made any effort to pay I would just tell him it was alright, go spend it on a good meal, go play a little cards with some friends. Over four months he'd compiled a debt so large it was unanimous that he'd need my help. Check and mate. The dumb Dora didn't even know what hit him!

I spent my entire life getting money, selling drugs, selling women, selling land, hell, even people! But I'd never had one woman who I lusted after that didn't even know I existed.

I ran a finger over all the pretty and expensive flapper outfits and dresses I'd bought for her—five and a half slim—and thought about how each would accentuate those fine, round breasts and those long, scandalous legs.

And if anyone tried to touch her, I'd off them.

--

Wednesday night came too slowly. I'd spent the morning playing golf with some of my affiliates who wanted to talk business and play a good round on my private green, and then I had a hefty lunch of turkey and some other meat that tasted like stale dirt.

I'd spent the rest of the day flinging around my closet like a quiff on date night trying to find something to wear.

I didn't go with black because it was formal and I didn't need her seeing me as some Al Capone the moment I got to her door. I didn't deal with murders; I just decided who needed to sleep with the fishes and who need to be roughed up a bit.

White made me look like a pansy on prom night. She was in high school, maybe that'd be more appealing? No, I chose not. I saw a charcoal grey pinstripe one that my mother gave me for Christmas last year and once I rolled the cuffs up to elbow length and tossed the jacket over my shoulder I looked like a regular day model.

On the car ride to the Swan household I took off my hat and jacket to go the less threatening route. The last thing I needed was to scare the girl to death.

Upon my arrival I saw three large bags waiting on the porch. My stomach jumped with excitement, pure and unadulterated. I would finally have her; she'd be mine to do whatever I pleased. I jumped out of the car, slowly calmed myself, and called forward my bodyguard. I pointed to the luggage and he made quick work to bring them to the car.

I did the old cough-into-your-hand-to-check-your-breath thing and knocked firmly on the door. As soon as my knuckles hit the door for the third time, it wrenched open and there was my little bunny, looking like a rag-a-muffin from hell.

Her eyes were swollen and red, her skin fairer than usual and her hair was slick and shiny and in all kinds of directions like she'd been thrashing about or running her fingers through it.

But she was still the prettiest thing in the world.

Isabella had a knee length long-sleeved dress on with a blue ribbon wrapped around the waste and blue shoes to match. Damn, the girl could throw together an outfit and look like an angel.

"No!" she screamed at my face and slammed the door shut.

"You want me to go…" my bodyguard hinted behind me. I shook my head and hitched my thumb towards the car where he paced back. I would not remove her by force unless it became absolutely necessary.

I wouldn't have expected anything less than fire from her; I'd have been disappointed if she came easily. I liked the way her face got red when she was overworked or angered.

On a whim, I tried to open the door only to find that it was unlocked. I made my way inside, following the trail of her sobbing and screaming to the kitchen. Charlie Swan was sitting with her, his hand reaching out to her forearm but she screamed at him and stood up from the chair to turn around, but ran into my chest.

That seemed to stop her as she looked up with horror stricken eyes. I stared back, watching her watch me and in slow motion her anger faded to unyielding wails and tears. She fell to the floor on her knees and sat back, crying into her small hands.

Charlie knelt down beside her, trying to comfort his grief-stricken daughter. "Bella, please don't cry."

A shock ran down my spine. _Bella_.

"No!" she screamed again. "It's not fair! You're sitting pretty while I have to go some gunman's house and be his whore!"

"That's not it, Bella—"

"It is! I won't go!"

This fight had obviously been going on for days the way Charlie sighed and groaned and looked about to cry. I would not take a grown man crying in my company. I knelt down beside Bella and removed her hands from her face while she fought to get them out of my grasp.

"I promise you," I said firmly. "I will not force you into anything that you do not personally approve of."

"I don't believe you," she spat.

I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me. "Your father gave you to me to pay off his debt. You _are_ mine now, but I would still rather not force into you anything. However, if you continue to misbehave, I _will_ use force."

He full puffy lips quivered and I mentally berated myself. The point was _not_ to scare her and there I go running my mouth and making her cry even more.

Something must have gotten through to her because she sniffled and wiped away her tears before making an effort to stand up. I still had the magic at least. She hugged her father and walked out ahead of me to the car. My bodyguard opened the door and she climbed inside.

"That was strangely easy," I muttered.

"We've been fighting for three days, maybe she finally sees there's no way out." He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Since her mother died she's a lot more resigned and realistic."

I stuck my hand out. "I promise to take good care of her, Charlie. If you need anything feel free to call, but I'd prefer not too much contact. She belongs to me now and I'd like if she stayed in that mindset."

He nodded and I scrammed.

--

Bella didn't speak in the car. She stared out the window after quietly appraising my car, the likes of which I assumed she'd never been inside of before. Her fingers absentmindedly traced over the leather and she longingly looked out into the green shrubs.

Whenever I tried to make small talk she'd grunt, annoyed, or just didn't answer all together. I gave up about halfway through the ride. I'd let her sulk; she'd get over it with soon enough.

When she entered my home, the shock on her face couldn't even be described. The little bag in her hand dropped to the floor and her mouth opened slightly at the winding grand staircase, then the chandelier and then the depiction of angels browsing a library up above our heads. I grinned proudly.

She grudgingly asked where she would be staying. I wished I'd given her a tour before showing her the room I'd spent two days decorating because as soon as I placed her bags inside, she closed the door and locked it. I had the key in my pants pocket… but I let her sulk until dinner.

By dinner I had one of the staff go and grab her. I managed to suck in a deep breath before my teeth clenched shut, just barely missing my tongue. She'd showered and changed into a bright blue casual dress. That thing was flimsy and tight around her curvaceous hips and if I tried hard enough I could almost make out the shape of her sex.

The napkin on my lap was slowly stretching upwards to wipe the drool from my lips. Hot dog! I was a very lucky man.

She sat to my right and glared at the empty chair to my left. Her damp hair clung around where the turtleneck met her chin and she crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. The napkin on my lap grew upwards even more when I could see the shape of her nipples underneath.

The waiter came out with a dainty serving for her and a hearty meal of red meat, red beans and some red meat jelly. Red was no longer at he top of my list, however... stretched blue was.

"So, Isabella," I started off casually. "Your father tells me you're eighteen."

"None of your beeswax," she spat and picked up her fork.

"What are you interested in doing after school?"

"None of your beeswax," she said again and shoved a forkful of corn into her mouth.

"What are your hobbies?"

"None of your beeswax." Yet again with the beeswax.

"Did you enjoy your shower?" Well, this was different... she flushed scarlet. "I guess there was no beeswax in the shower."

Instead of answering, she remained red-faced and continued to shovel in her food in the least ladylike way possible. Honestly, it was like watching a starving dog eat a steak from a butcher's shop. I stopped eating when she got towards the end and I didn't think she'd finish, but she proved me wrong by scooping everything up and depositing it into her mouth.

Bella wiped her mouth and looked over at me almost shyly. "Are you eating that?"

I laughed loudly through the echoing hall.

--

The thing I learned about Bella that most interested me was her taste in literature. After dinner every night, and almost all through the day, she would sit in the library across from her room, pick out several books, and have them all done with in two to three days.

She successfully ran through Shakespeare, Bronte, and Austen and then scoured through my poetry collection. I'd dated a lot of brauds in my life, but never had I met one who actually took the time to sit and read through my library.

The only time she didn't give me an attitude was when I was asked if I could join her in reading. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before; she glanced up without an angry or disgusted expression, nodded and waved her hand a bit, and then went back to reading. Her long legs were sprawled out across the couch and when I lifted them to my lap she didn't even flinch!

A victory swell went off in my chest and even more swelling in my groin. From that position I had a straight shot right up the hem of her dress, but I politely went to reading instead of ogling at my little bunny.

--

Two weeks had gone by without incidence—well, little incidence. Bella was clumsy, the clumsiest thing I'd ever met. Twice she'd rolled out of bed and fell onto the floor, she'd tripped on the last step of the stairs, oh, about four times, and while speaking she bit her tongue to the point of blood once.

She also hated blood, _detested_ it as a matter-of-fact. When she bit her tongue I thought she would pass out or throw up, but I managed to pry her mouth open and put a cloth napkin in to stop the bleeding. She apologized and flushed and thanked me for the rest of the night.

I worked during the day, finance reports and looking through files of people who were on the run or owed money. Bella asked what I did and I told her I was a business man, but she rolled her eyes and told me she knew my kind with a little too much confidence.

This confidence came from her "missing" ex-boyfriend who'd I'd dealt with on my own a while back. Bella was the perfect mobster's woman; she wasn't ignorant to the men around her. Her father had it in with the mob, and the crowd she hung around with at the sock hops had in on it, too.

She knew the slang when my bodyguards would come up and tell me something. She'd frown and shake her head knowingly but never say a word otherwise. She was a smart girl with a good head on her shoulders that knew too much.

And I wanted her. Badly.

She wasn't an idiot, far from it in fact. She read, she recited and she wrote her own poetry and such. School was out of the question so I hired her a private tutor and it turned out she was a goddamn genius!

Intelligence is a turn on; it may not seem like it, but the way this bunny spoke with eloquence and perfect fluency, well, I was goofy and crazy for her. We'd both have to be blind not to see the sexual tension.

Almost every night before I went to bed I'd rub one out, simple as that; I wanted her but was unwilling to go get a hooker to take care of my problem. That and I was almost sure she did the same thing. She had to, there was no way she couldn't.

So on a particularly hot day when we were sitting in the library on that godforsaken leather couch, sweating our skin off, I couldn't help but notice every little shift.

She was lying on her side in a sleeveless pale yellow dress with her hair tied up, and if that wasn't enough to drive me up a wall, her legs were bent across my lap. The bottom of her dress barely touched her thigh with the way she was laying and how it was crushed underneath her. My hands were endlessly twitching to reach out and moved it up, just a bit, just so I could feel the smooth skin of her ass and the moist crevasse of her sex. Just once.

When she shifted her legs over my lap and her calf brushed across the straining in my pants that I had long ago released from the zipper, my hand _finally_ bolted out to that creamy smooth thigh.

Bella gasped and jerked forward, but her leg went back and pressed even further into my erection. It moved up and down slowly, torturously, and my eyes closed tightly together. My hand reached out and flipped up that damn dress until it was to her waste.

She sat up, one leg spreading—and there she was in all her glory.

Face red, chest heaving, thighs apart, hands gripping the leather, lip between her teeth, hair just a bit mussed, and right on those hideous baggy panties was a wonderful wet mark.

_I knew it! I knew it wasn't only me!_

My hand slid from her outer thigh right to that wet mark and I wasted no time pressing my palm flat against it. Her hips threw themselves up and her head flung back to the arm of the chair as she cried out softly.

That mouth… those lips…

I leaned forward and I claimed them. Mine. Mine. Mine. _And don't you forget it you little devil. _

My hips fell forward into hers, her thighs wrapped around my waist and I was home. Her little mouth took over me, took everything I had and wanted more. She was savage and needy; _she'd_ been the one holding back and I was just naïve enough to think that _I _was the one sacrificing.

I rolled my hips over and over into her hot little sex while she devoured my mouth and gave out the most sinful little sounds. Books toppled over and fell to the floor, only adding to the lusty haze that my mind was swirling in. Those long gams wrapped around my waist to push me further even more. The wet spot had grown to a full blown pool that was too much to keep covered any longer.

Sitting back on my heels, I grabbed her legs together and dragged those panties down her hips and into the trash across the room. She would _not_ be wearing those ugly things in my company ever again.

Now, I've had sex with women from Milan, Paris, France, India, Spain, and Africa, but never, not _once_ in my life, had I ever seen anything so… _pink_.

With each ankle in my hand Bella's legs were wide open and she wasn't in the mind to cover herself like the shy little girl she was. Instead, shocking us both, she threw her hips up into the air and whimpered something unintelligible. There was a dribble of wetness that slowly went down her ass cheek and was about to the hit the leather of the couch.

I couldn't let that happen. It would wasteful, a real disaster and all….

I leaned down and swept it up with my tongue, slow and long I licked up, up, up until I was drowning in a pool of Bella-strawberry-juice. She tasted like strawberries everywhere, her lips—both pairs—her hair, her skin, _everywhere_!

The impatient little thing couldn't wait for me to stop observing her pink cunt, or the tides and waves coming out of it, so once again she threw her hips up. My nose connected with her clit and she hissed through her teeth; a delightful sound.

I am a man of many talents, and my tongue is generally at the forefront of such talents. Bella deserved a reward for her good disposition in my home.

I delved my tongue in.

One finger rubbed at her clit, and like music I heard her scream my name—

She screamed _my name_. Isabella Swan, the sexiest flapper in all of anywhere that's somewhere, didn't scream out Mr. Cullen like she had been calling me then entire time, no, she screamed out:

"Oh… oh, ah, _Edward_!" I looked up and her face was scrunched up all cute and pretty with sweat hanging on her brow. Dainty fingers grasped at my hair while I finished her off, cleaning up those pink lips and, admittedly, going back for a little more while she got all worked up, tugging at my hair again.

"Mmm…" she moaned. "More."

How could I resist. "Magic words?"

She looked down at me like I had three heads and a real serpent's tongue. To soothe her worries I gave her a good long lick, right down the middle, and she didn't even have to think.

"Please, please, please, please, _please_!"

Finally, fucking finally I stood up, took my damn constricting pants off that made everything more complicated than it needed to be, and I went back to my little bunny.

She welcomed me like a gracious hostess and the next thing I knew the length of my cock was being rubbed up and down by her eager little sex. Bella's hand grabbed onto me mercilessly and started rubbing her clit with the tip, thrashing wildly about and positioning me all on her own.

Christ, this woman was a miracle.

She took me in, all on her own, screaming out my name again and I took the queue that she wanted me to pound into her, not sit there like a buffoon.

She was so hot and tight all around me, sucking me into her and not letting go. I hadn't even thought about sex with another woman since I saw her at the Cherry Street Sock Hop months ago.

Every thought, every need over the course of those months came rearing back and I pumped into her with the force of a reckless animal. Her mouth was on mine, reciprocating what I was doing below. Her muscles kept contracting, over and over. I didn't even know if she was cumming or not, just the way she kept screaming and thrashing was good enough for me.

The leather squeaked beneath our sweaty bodies. The crack of my ass was pooling with sweat and my tailbone was sending shocks up my spine. I was grunting and growling her sweet name every time she said mine. Eventually I think we were just screaming each other's names for the sake of screaming.

I felt her orgasm this time; she squeezed me deep inside her, all the way until the hilt. I thought I kicked the bucket for a moment there; I lost my sight, I lost all thought and I had enough sense to pull out and cum on her stomach rather than make a huge mess on my couch. Oddly, she arched for me, took all that I deposited on her and then some.

I leaned down, my head in the crook of her neck and she whispered like in some Hollywood drama. "I want in."

"To what?" I panted.

"The Mob."

I looked up at her, and besides her flushed face and panting breaths like mine, she looked serious. "Mobs aren't for little girls."

"I know more than you think."

"I bet you do," I answered and picked up my pants.

"I'd be an asset." I looked at her particularly perky ass and quirked an eyebrow. "I mean it! I'm the police chief's daughter and I know a lot about organized crime."

"Alright," I shrugged.

"Alright?"

"Alright, baby. You're in." Her face lit up like I'd given her the world and she smiled wider than I'd ever seen before.

The longer I could keep her by my side, even throwing her little assignments to appease her, the better. She'd be like a mafia princess. And when people looked back they'd see Edward Cullen, the American Gangster, and his woman, Isabella Swan.

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